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SELECT POEMS 



—OF- 



WM. TAYLOR 



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SELECT POEMS 



AND AUTOBIOGRAPHY 



BY 



WILLIAM TAYLOR. 



OFC 281888 



ADAMS, INDIANA, 
JAY C. SMITH, PRINTER. 

1888. 



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COPYRIGHT 1888, BY WM. TAYLOR, 



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o>-^<^^>c^o 

To the many friends who, time and again, 
have requested me to write and publish with 
my small collection of poems, an autobiography, 
I most respectfully subscribe such particulars as 
will serve, at least for outlines of a not very 
note-worthy pilgrimage. I feel assured that 
those who know me best, will exercise unlimited 
charity in order to smooth down many imper- 
fections which doubtless will appear in this, my 
humble effort to place before them a few select 
poems, written not only in the dark, but under 
many other unfavorable circumstances, some of 
which I shall endeavor to make clear by the 
following brietiy written testimony. 

I was borji of humble parentage, February 7, 
1850, iu Port Glasgow, Renfi'ewshire, Scotland. 
About five years later my parents removed to 
AVhiteinch, a small village four miles west of 
Glasgow, where we resided eleven years. Just 
how much of this time was spent in school I do 
not know ; nor can I remember nmch about my 
school days except a vivid recollection of a rattan 
exercise that a pedagogue executed most vigor- 
ously ; your humble servant being the unfortun- 
ate recipient. In justice to the teacher I should 
note here that the severity was made manifold 
by a determination on ray part to resent what I 



4 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

believed to be undue punishment. My parents 
sympathized with me, hence no force was used 
to make me return to school. Thus, as it was 
the only school in the neighborhood, my school 
days were abruptly ended, when about eight 
years of age. 

Shortly after this my brother John, who was 
about nineteen months my senior, engaged with 
a dairyman to herd cattle. I agreed tohelphiui 
and so six moiitlis were spent pleasantly and 
profitably. The following lines are in memory 
of this pleasant time : 

Do you ever tliluk, my brotlier, 

Of the time when you and I 

Sported gaily with each other 

By the Clyde when herding kye ? 

And my brother, 'tis I know. 

Five and twenty years ago. 

We were happy then together, 
Though too young for toilsome care ; 
Yet In fair or foulest weather, 
We were at our duty there. 
Herding cattle, to and fro. 
Five and twenty years ago. 

Left In solitude, I ponder 
O'er those days that 've long since fled : 
And in thought I often wander. 
O'er the paths we loved to tread, 
Where the gowans used to grow, 
Five and twenty years ago. 

I recall with untold pleasure. 
Many of our hoyhood days. 
When we rambled at our leisure. 
Over Scotland's banks and braes. 
Hunting bird nests high and low. 
Five and twenty years ago. 



AUTOBIOaRAPHY. 5 

But those days are gone, my brotlier, 
Gone, alas, to come no more ; 
Still I know we love each other. 
As we did in days of yore. 
When our young hearts were aglow, 
Five and twenty years ago. 

When the season was over, John got a place 
as grocer boj^, and I with a boot and shoemaker 
to run errands. Here I remained, to the best of 
my knowledge, about eighteen months ; next I 
was engaged with a tinsmith and gasfitter. 
About six months later he left for >Jew Zealand 
and I was forced to find employment elsewhere, 
which I soon did in a shipyard, — boy's labor be- 
ing greatly in demand at this time in heating 
rivets for iron built steamships. This I followed 
until about thirteen years of age, when I was 
bound for five years as an apprentice blacksmith 
to Barclay, Curl & Co., Whiteinch on the Clyde. 
A little more than three years elapsed when my 
father went to take charge of the blacksmith 
department in a large ship yard in Dublin, Ire- 
land. My bond with Barclay, Curl & Co. was 
cancelled in order that I might go with him. 
We were in Dublin about ten months when John 
who was also a blacksmith thought to try his 
fortune in America. My father followed him 
one month later and we, my mother, sister, 
younger brother and myself returned to Scot- 
land where we were to wait until my father 
could settle down. In about four months we 
learned that Cincinnati was to be our future 
home. While preparing to take our departure, 
an accident befell me July 4, 1867, While a 



6" AUTOBIOGHAPHY. 

coj-isiii was firing a,t a target, I stood near to see 
where the bullet would strike. A piece of the 
guncap penetrated tlie pupil of my left eye, caus- 
ing great pain and loss of the sight. This de- 
tained us until September 23, when we sailed 
for New York, where my father met us at (.'as- 
tle Garden. Without delay we proceeded to 
our destination arriving at Cincinnati two 
days later. My father being soon dissatisfied 
about the beginning of 1808 returned to his na- 
tive land and the rest of tlie family removed to 
Cochran, Indiana. Together we remained there 
until October, 1871, when mother, sister and 
younger brother returned to bonnie Scotland. 
Meanwliile learning to love the land of my 
adoption better tiian the land of my nativity, I 
conchided to stay Iwve. 

I was at this time employed by Stedman 
& Co., of Aurora, Indiana, where I subsequently 
lost my sight. In the spring of 1872 I met for 
the first time, Nelhe Smith, the wouian of my 
choice. We united with the First Baptist 
Church of Auroi-a and were baptized in the Ohio 
river, February 23, 1873 by Rev. Clias. Ager, 
pastor, who afterwards united us in marriage, 
April 16, 1873. On March 22, 1874, Harold, our 
first born came to bless our little home. But 
the pleasure of seeing him to me was short. On 
May 23 following, a sliver of sleel from the head 
of a tool I was using pierced the ball of my right 
eye ushering me into lifelong darkness. And 
were it not that my trust was in God, I scarcely 
know how the calamity could have been borne. 
But by the grace of God who doeth all things 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 7 

for tlie best, I have learned to be satisfied ; and 
1 fully expect when this pilgrimage is over to 
lind that the so called calamity has been for 
some wise end. 

Since my loss of sight, friends too numerous 
to mention have sprung up everywhere, I can 
truthfully say that I have never known what it 
is to be forsaken. Let me say in conclusion that 
my children, four of wliom I have never seen, 
are all in all to me, while their mother is well 
worthy of the following lines : 

Truest and purest of the liuman race, 
From out whose breast compassion freely flows, 
A being worthy of the highest place : 
And greatest blessing Heaven on man bestows. 
True to her trust through dire, yet untold woes. 
Though frail in form, still by her virtues strong, 
Supporting man, beneath aflQiction's load 
With holy love and sweet celestial song ; 
And certes, in life's adamantine road. 
True woman is the masterpiece of God. 
Aurora, Ind., Nov. 5, 1888. Wm. Taylor. 



-#J 






um. ^®j^ 



Am I a Scot, or am I JVot? 

If I should bring a wagon o'er 
From Beotland to Columbia's shore, 
And by suctessive wear and tear, 
Tlie vviigon soon should need repair ; 
Thus, when tlie tires are worn through, 
C'oluniLia's iron doth renew ; 
Likewise the fellies, hubs and spokes 
Should be replaced by western oaks; 
In couree of time down goes the bed, 
But here's one like it in its stead. 
So bit bj' bit, in seven years, 
All things are changed in bed and gears, 
And still it i-eems as though it ought 
To be the one from Scotland brought ; 
But when I think the matter o'er, 
It ne'er was on a foreign shore, 
And all that came across the sea, 
Is only its identity, 

I came a Scotchman, understand. 
To live, by choice in this free land. 
Wherein I've dwelt from day to day, 
Till sixteen years have passed away. 
If physiology be true, 
My body has been changing too ; 
And though at first it did seem strange, 
Yet science doth confirm the change ; 



SELECT POEMS 

And since I have the trutli been taught 

1 wonder if I'm now a 8cot? 

Hi nee all that came across the sea 

Is only my identity. 



My JYative Land. 



Oh ! let me sing anither sang 

Ti' Scotia's rocky fells, 
Whaur I hae sported aft aniang 

The bonnie heather bells; 
An' tho' I'm far across the sea 

Frae a' thy scenes sae grand, 
I'll praise thee ti' the day I dee, 

My ain, my native land. 

The' twenty years have passed away 

SiJice I bade thee adieu. 
It seems as tho' 'twere yesterday 

I pu'd thy bells sae blue ; 
An' while's beside Ohio's stream 

In reverie I stand, 
An' fancy it is a' a dream 

I've left my native land. 

Tho' I, i)erchance, may climb naemair 

Thy boniue banks and braes, 
Nor pu' thyflow'rs, sae fresh an' fair, 

As in my boyhood days, 
Yet I shall tune anither lay, 

The lest at my command, 
Jn praise o' thee, tho' far away, 

My ain, my native land. 



10 SELECT POEMS. 

The Blind Man and His Boy, 

The sky was clear, the air was eahii, 

The birds sang on the trees, 

When I went ranibhng through the woods, 

My children small to plea.se ; 

The yonngest two ran on before, 

The eldest stayed with me. 

When with a trembling voice he cried : 

"I wish that you could see !" 

'''If you could see those lovely flow'rs 

That cluster here and there, 

And see those tall and stately trees, 

That reach high in the air, 

Then 1 might play with other boys, 

And with them pleasures find, 

But how could I enjoy their sports, 

And know that you are blind V 

"The trees are festooned all around, 

With flow'rs of every hue. 

The sun l)eams bright among their leaves, 

Yet all is dark to you ; 

It makes me sad to see those birds, 

So merry, blithe and free, 

I often wish that we were dead, 

Or else that you could see." 

"You must not let such thoughts, my boy, 
Disturb your youthful mind ; 
Remember, Tie who made those trees, 
Has also made mankind ; 
And while He feeds the little birds, 
That flit from tree to tree, 



SELECT POEMS. 11. 

Will, if we put our trust in Him, 

Take care of you and -me. 

"The sun wlione rays in splendor shine 

Among those leaves of green, 

Shines ever on this world of ours, 

Although not always seen ; 

So do God's blessings ever flow 

On them that walk aright ; 

He has raised many friends to me 

Since I have lost my sight, 

"Then let us thank Him for His care^ 

And trust Him for His grace. 

To guide us safely through this life. 

And find our souls a place 

Where neither grief nor sorrow comes 

To mar the blessings given, 

TheLlind may trust in God on earth 



A Boquet and a Wish, 

A little h'dy gave to me 
A lovely button liole boquet 
Artd said she wished that I could see 
The l)eauties of that sweet nosegay. 
1'he fragrance should not be denied, 
Put all ! thought 1 how little worth! 
Too soon it must l>e tossed aside 
^lo mingle with the mother earth. 
Yet for the token of regard 
My sincere thanks should be returned ; 
Aiul for the mind of some great bard 
V-y very soul within me burned. 
But all my humble muse would say 
Tl e-^e flowers are very sweet I ween 
While they must wither and decay 
Your wish shall live an evergreen. 



12 SELECT POEMS, 

Home at Last. 

The wand 'ring minstrel has returned, 

No more he needs to roam : 
For his remains are safe iimrned, 

Whose song was, "Home, Sweet Home." 

Without a spot to call his own, 

He crossed the deep sea's foam, 
And in a foreign land, alone. 

He sang of "Home, Sweet Home." 

He heard the maid of humble birth, 

In- music's sweetest strains, 
Sing of the dearest place on earth — 

That song was Howard Payne's. 

And while the grandest martial bands 

Enchanted royal ears 
With "Home, Sweet Home" in foreign lands, 

The homeless man shed tears. 

At last, upon a stranger's bed. 

Where he must cease to roam, • 

Kind angels came and gently said, 
"John Howard Payne, come home." 

The spirit of the bard took flight 

Far o'er the highest dome, 
And in the land wliere all is briglit, 

The singer found a home. 

Though he who pang liome's sweet( Bt lay 

Died on a distant shore, 
And slept for years 'neath foreign clay, 

He'll slumber there no more. 



SELECT POEMS. 13 

"With honors spread on ev'ry hand. 

They brought him o'er the wave, 
To find within his native land 

An honored poet's grave. 

His wand 'rings are forever past, 

No more he needs to roam ; 
His resting-place is found at last — 

John Howard Payne is home. 



Grant. 

Arouse, ye minstrels, tune your lyres, 
Ye, whose genius Heaven inspires, 
Arise ! and with your golden w ires 
Chant high praise to U. 8. Grant. 

Tell the world what name is grander 
Than Napoleon, the eomnmnder. 
Greater far than Alexander; 
Praise the undefeated Grant. 

Koble son of God's creation, 
AVliose great aim was preservation 
Of the greatest, grandest nation, 
Ever graced the face of earth. 

History records none specific, 
Whose career was more prolific, 
Kor can ancient hieroglyphic. 
Tell a greater name than Grant. 

Glory shines in August splendor 
Round the leader and defender, 
liim, who rather than surrender, 
AYould have died for libjerty. 



SELE'JT POEMS. 

He hns caused the world to wonder, 
By his well dh'eeted tliunder; 
Bursting rebel ranks asunder 
And dissolving slavery's chains, 

"On to Richmond, " tells the story; 
Battles won and fields so gory ; 
Tree's surrender seals the glory, 
Of eternal fame for Grant. 



A Vagabond's Tale. 

In years gone by, when in my youth, 

I saw and loved a flower, 
And oh, thought I, it may forsooth 

Adorn some sacred bower ; 
And if it does, I'll neither te'l 

Nor let my love be shown ; 
I'll bid the i)lace a sad farewell, 

And go my way alone. 

Ah me ! had I but known, 

I found that it was not the pride 

Of any sacred bower, 
And so, thought I, whate'er betide, 

I'll husband this sweet..flower. 
I tliought of it by day an<l night, 

How priceless it had grown, 
I praised its virtues with delight. 

And craved it for mine own. 

Ah me ! had I but knowii. 

With modest and with gentle grace 
That seemed almost divine, 

Around my heart with fond embrace* 
It lovingly did twine. 



SELECT POEMS. 15 

I guarded it with jealous care, 

And cherished it alone ; 
No flower to me was half so fail: 

As this I thought my own. 

Ah me ! had I but known. 

But ah, too soon, oh God above. 

The story's hard to tell. 
The flower preferred another's love, 

And bade my home farewell. 
He paused, a tear ran down his cheek, 

While one stole down my own ; 
And when again he strove to speak, 

'Twas in a husky tone. 

Ah me ! had I but known. 

And now a vagabond I roam. 

With none to care for me. 
No spot on earth to call my home, 

Although there used to be ; 
And when at last my humble bier 

May be the earth alone, 
A grave unhallowed by a tear, 

Unmarked by flower or stone. 

Ah me ! had 1 but known. 

But there's a home beyond the grave 

Where love can never die. 
Prepared by him who died to save 

AH sinners such as I ; 
And there amidst that happy throng, 

Where sorrow is unknown, 
I'll join the sw^eet celestial song 

Around the Master's throne. 

Ah me ! I would be gone. 



10 SiiLEcrr POEM>!lv 

A. story . 

"Mother, what makes your clieek so pale ?" 

A boy of twelve ypars cried, 

"Ifave you received sad news by mail, 

Telling some friend has died ? 

Or has it been some fault of mine V" 

And as he speaks his arms entwine 

Around his mother's neck, 

"l\Iy mother dear, eome tell me true. 

What can it be that troubles you V 

You are almost a wreck." 

"Ah, no, my darling boy, my pride I 

You have not grieved iny breast ; 

Nor is it that some friend lias died— 

Not these disturb my rest. 

And as the tears ran down her cheeks, 

She kissed her boy and slowly speaks ; 

" 'Tis for your father's sake, 

He, who was oiiee so true and brave. 

Too soon must fill a drunkard's grave^ 

Oil God ! my heart will break ! 

"Mother, wliere does my father go?" 

The boy in anguish cried, 

"For I c in bring hijii home, I know, 

Naught has he me denied ; 

We must not let this monster foe 

Drag him down deep in endless w^oe, 

The thought most drives me wild 1 

To bring him from the cursed den, 

Of alcohol and drunken men, 

God help a drunkard's child !" 



SEL3CT rOEMS. 

The mother knelt in fervent prayer 
To ask from heaven relief. 
"Father," she said, "give us thy care 
In this our time of grief. 
But if it is thy will, O God ! 
That 1 should bear affliction's rod, 
Then spare my darling child ; 
And Father, if it he Thy will, 
In kindness spare the imbecile 
By alcohol beguiled. 

"And thou, Ca-eat Potentate Divine, 

Who ma»le the earth and skies, 

In pity hear this prayer of mine. 

And do not me despise. 

Do thou, O Cod. for thy Son's sake 

JShow my dear husband his mistake 

And be to him a friend ; 

Dead thou liim from his evil ways, 

And thou shalt have our hearty praise 

Henceforth and wilhout end." 

The mother from her bended knees 

Arose and dried her tears. 

"My boy," she said, "my heart's at ease, 

JSIy mind is free from fear, 

And if you will, my noble son, 

You may down to the tavern run, 

And take your father's hand. 

And tell him, we would like him here 

At home, his wife and child to cheer. 

And make a happy band." 

Emotion tilled his youthful breast 
At once with hope and fear. 



18 SELE 'T rOEMS. 

"I'll go," he said, "at your request, 

And bring my father here. 

And mother, something seems to say 

Our sorrows are to pass away 

Ere many days are past." 

But when they parted at the door, 

They little thought they'd part no more ; 

That parting was the last. 

The lad straight to the tavern went, 
And found his father there ; 
He saw him o'er a table bent, 
And hoard him curse and swear. 
The fiercest oatlns were now and then 
Indulged in by those drunken men. 
Who wrangled in a game. 
"Why does my father leave his home 
To such a place as this to come ? 
Oh ! death before such shame !" 

He stood and thought in siid despair, 

Outside the bar-room door, 

"If I sliould leave my father there. 

My troul)le would be more ; 

For mother could not bear the grief, 

And death alone would give relief; 

Such loss I could not stand." 

Then with a. fu*m and manly stride, 

The boy stood by his father's side. 

And held his father's hand. 

"Father," he whispered, "please come home, 
The hour is turning late. 
And mother longs for you to come, 
Lamenting her sad fate. 



SELECT POEMS. 

Tonight she looks so very weak, 

(And here the lad could scarcely speak) 

I fear she nears her end ; 

And father, neitlier you nor I 

Can well aflbrd to have her die, 

Our dearest earthly friend. 

The man though an inebriate, 

vStill Joved his wife and son ; 

"I'll go," siiid he, "ere it's too late, 

This game may go undone." 

Then throwing down the cards he had, 

And rising to go witli the lad, 

He said, **I've drunk my last ; 

Tonight my drinking days are o'er, 

I here resolve to drink no more : 

God help me to hold fast." 

His drunken comrade from his chair, 

Aro;e and cur.sing said : 

"If that young boy were mine, Isw^ear, 

I'd lash him home to bed." 

And as his hard and brawny hand 

Came down with vengeance on the stand, 

And as he madder grew, 

8aid he, "Joe Reynolds, you're to blame, 

You have no right to quit the game, 

Until the game is through." 

Joe Reynolds angrily replied, 
"I have no right to play, 
r.ut I've a right to quit," he cried, 
"For aught Jim Jones may say ; 
And if you do not like my plan. 
Just do the very best you can. 



20 SSLSVT POHM^. 

Whatever that may be, 
And I sliall come and go at will, 
A free man born, a free man still, 
No man shall browbeat me." 

Jim Jones, the man who kept the bar, 

The hell-hole of the town. 

Then raised a club he kept for war. 

And struck Joe Reynolds down. 

And Reynolds rising, siezed a glass, 

And hurl'd it at Jim Jones. Alas ! 

It struck the boy instead. 

The lad fell lifeless on the floor, 

A bleeding corse to rise no more. 

The glass had cleavVl his head. 

As Reynolds by the lamp-light's gleam 

Beheld wlint he had done, 

"O Christ !'' he cried, "is this a dream ? 

Or did I slay my son ?" 

Then bending o'er the lifeless chil 1, 

He cried aloud in accents wild, 

"Great Heavens ! oh how sad ! 

There lies a mother's hope and joy ! 

Her heart was in her noble boy, 

She'll die or else go mad !" 

The father raised the lifeless form, 

With heart so full of pain, 

He did not hear the midnight «torm 

Of thunder and of rain. 

His thoughts were of the boy that lay 

A gory corpse, a lump of clay. 

Whose life he did destroy. 

He thought when at the garden gate. 



SELECT POEMS 21 

Of tliem w iio oft for him did wait, 
The mother and tlie boy. 

Heart-rending- Avere liis sorrows now, 

When in his cottage door, 

He kif^vsed the bleeding mangled brow, 

And laid him on the floor. 

The mother gazed toward her son. 

One look and then her race was run, 

Her sorrows, too, were passed. 

The two who parted at the door, 

In heaven had met to part more ; 

That parting was the last. 

*' Maggie, my wife," Joe Reynolds cried, 

In Mgonizing toncf?, 

*'I would to God that I had died, 

Or else that vile Jim Jones, 

It was at him I aimed the blow, 

And not at our poor little Joe, 

I'd die for him instead." 

And when he stooped to kiss her brow, 

He found that he was standing now, 

In presence of the dead. 

Go to yon bedlam o'er the hill ; 

Tiiey've taken Reynolds there. 

He wanders to and fro at will. 

And cries in sad denpair, 

"Of alcohol when in the glass, 

(A viper hidden in the grass) 

A devilish snare, take care. 

'Twas alcohol that drove me wild, 

And made me kill my wife and child ; 

Ofal( 



22 SELECT POEMS. 

Best. 

When 1 cast ofrtlii.s "mortal coil," 
And leave l)ehind me care and toil, 
Weep not for me, ('tis my request,) 
But say a pilgrinrs gone to rest ; 
When sorrow's blight no nK^re can shed 
It's baleful shadow o'er my head ; 
And thank for me the God who gave 
The peaceful slumbers of the grave. 

Afiflicted, man has been from erst ; 
See how the newborn babe is cursed ! 
As sound vibrates within its ear. 
How often does it start with fear ! 
And though unconscious of the causa 
It writhes 'neath violated laws. 
Thus from our birth p;nn seems to be 
Fix'd in the human family. 

Amid the gay and festive throng. 
We join with laughter and with song, 
When in our very depths of soul 
Is anguish we can scarce control ; 
Perhaps for friendship we have lost, 
Perhaps for friends by trouble toss'd, 
Ferliaps 'tis virtue basely sold 
For filthy lucre, tempting gold. 

For ev'ry flow'r along life's path, 
Are countless thorns with pointed wrath ; 
E'en flow'rs of rich and rare perfume 
Have pangs concealed amid their bloom ; 
Yea mortals breathe from ])urest air 
The seeds of sickness and of care : 



SELECT POEMS 23 

!Nor need we hope life's ills to waive — 
The only rest is in the grave. 

Think not that they endowed with wealth 
Can purchase happiness or health ; 
Think not the prince endow'd with pow'r 
Can add unto his life an hour. 
Tlie master and the slave Jiiust trend 
Their onward course to one ^reat end ; 
Nor need we care when in the grave, 
Which one was master, which was slave. 

The monarcli sits, scepter in hand. 
And millions move at his command ; 
Yet with the peasant he is one — 
A common life — one race to run ; 
]^or can his influence, hin crown, 
His royal roles, his wide renown, 
3>ispel the fears that rend his breast, 
The grave alone can orive him rest. 



Our Lincoln's Hallow'd Tomb. 

Oh haste thee, haste thee, verdant spring, 

And grandest floral beauties bring 

Of rich and rare perfume ; 

For Decoration Day draws near. 

And there are those we should revere 

Within the hallow'd tomb- 

A nation that neglects the dead, 
Who for its freedom freely bled, 
Deserves not to be free. 
]Nor should a people e'er forget 



24 SELECT POEMS. 

They ne'er can liquidate the debt 
They owe for liberty. 

In memory of those who gave 

Their lives our country's cause to save, 

We would observe the day ; 

And though some lie in graves unknown, 

Unmark'd by either fiower or stoLc, 

Their names shall live for aye. 

The patriot whose race is run 

Who rests with laurels truly won 

Cares naught for tributes now. 

Yet we, in homage to the brave, 

May twine our garlands o'er his grave, 

If not around his brow. 

And thou, O God, help us to send 

Our tributes from each state, to blend 

In beauty and perfume. 

And a.s the fragrance mingles free. 

May all our hearts united be 

To blesK our Lincoln's tomb. 



Meinojial Day. 

We gather here. Almighty God, 

In honor of our dead ; 
Some slumber here beneath the sod 

In their cold and silent bed, 
And some lie sleeping far from here 

Beneath a southern sky. 
Where none will shed a friendly tear, 

Nor mark the place they lie. 



SELECT rOEMS 25 

We give tl;ee praise, Alniiglity God. 

That til is our land is free ; 
0' lie slaves that once in bondage trod 

Are now at liberty. 
And as the starry banners wav^e, 

Our breasts sincerely swell 
For I hem who fought that flag to save, 

And for their country fell. 

We bring tbese floral tributes here 

In token of our love 
For friends who once were near and dear 

But now are gone above. 
And as we strew the flowers around, 

We earnestly request 
Thy bit Sidings on each s^ x t of ground 

Wherein our soldiers rest. 



The Northern Lights:^ 

Ilaii ! to the lights that shone afar, 

When our country was dark with blood and war, 

Those lights that came with light'ning speed, 

To serve their country in time of need : 

And nii<l reb^ellion's smoke of war, 

Fach ligjit lent its aid to the northern star ; 

Whose glory shall forever shine. 

In eternal fame on freedom's shrine. 

Fathers whose beards were turning gray, 
< 'all'd their stalwart sons on a bright spring day ; 
My sons, they said, we must take heed. 
Our home's in danger, our cnuntry^s in need ; 
*Decllcated to Jolm A. Flatter Post, G. A. K. 



26 SELECT POEMS. 

Nor shall rebellion's legions dire, 
Demolish our homes with their hellish fire; 
While freedom's sous are hale as we, 
The Uuiou shall live and our laud be free. 

They volunteer'd with heart aud baud 

When the cry of war swept o'er the land ; 

They came on foot, and came on steed. 

To serve their country, in the time of need ; 

Those gallant men must be af n.ired, 

Vv'ho rush'd to the front when Sumpter was fir'd, 

And midst the southern slot and shell, 

'Xeath the stars and stripes for their country fell. 

All hail I each patriotic land. 

Whose glorious deeds shall forever stand ; 

Men, worthy of the name indeed, 

Who served their country in the time of need ; 

And by whose valor tried and true. 

Waves the stars and stripes in red, white and blue 

Proclaiming far o'er land sea. 

The Union still liv^es and our land is free. 



The Preacher mid His Man. 

There was a preacher of some note, 

Who owned a strip of land. 

And as he could not work it all 

lie hired a heljung hand. 

The man he hired knew how to work, 

So things went like a charm. 

For while the preacher wrote his notes 

The man toiled on the farm. 

When Sunday came the man would go 
To hear his master preach, 



SELECT POEIMS. 

And listen with tlie utmost care 
To wliat tlie text might teacli. 
Baptizing was tlie preacher's theme 
And he took pains to say 
That sprinkling is to ChriBt the Lord 
As good as any way. 

Ilie man was of the Baptist faith, 

And so was much surprised ; 

Pie knew the Scriptures plainly told 

How Christ had been baptized; 

He knew that down in Jordan's stream, 

John did his Lord baptize, 

>So that the followers of Christ 

Might go and do likewise. 

The servant man desired to teach 

The wise and learned man, 

That to baptize is to immerse, 

The Scriptures' only plan : 

But how he might commence the task, 

He studied all day long ; 

At length he settled on a plan, 

Let it be right or w^rong. 

He took some seeds they had prepared 

To plant down in the ground; 

And spread them out upon the earth. 

Then sprinkled dirt around. 

The preacher came to view the work, 

But could not undei*stand ; 

He never had seen work like this, 

So he call'd liis hired hand. 

'' My friend," the preacher meekly said, 
"There may be many ways, 



SSLS'JT POE^rS. 

But work like this, T never saw 

III all my farming? days. 

If there is any law for this, 

Explain it if you can, 

To me there seems no sense at all, 

In any such a plan." 

"I took this plan I must confess," 

The working man replies, 

"To teach you vsprinkling is no way 

For Christians to baptize. 

I sprinkled tliose potatoes there 

AVith dirt, to let you know, 

We must obey the nat'ral law, 

If we would have things grow, 

"And when your work is ended here, 

You need not be surprised 

To find with ail tlie sprinkling done, 

You never b.ave baptized. 

Then follow in the paths of Christ, 

As near as mortal can. 

Baptizing in the good old way, 

The Scripthres' oidy plan." 



It is not I. 

Lives there a man on this green earth, 

Of high, or low, or unknown birth, 
Who sees the rose, so sweet and fair, 

And never craves the flower to wear? 
If there be 5ueh in any land, 

His grave should be the desert sand, 
Where not a flower may chance to bloom, 

Near by his undeserving tomb. 



SELECT POEMS. 2<> 

Or is there one with heart so drear 

That iiiusie harshly g:rates his ear ; 
In whom emotion ne'er was stirred 

By cord, or reed, or minstrel bird ? 
If there is one, lie should abide 

Far out upon the ocean wide, 
And there beneath the briny wave, 

Plnd for himself a fitting grave. 

Or one with soul so cold as this, 

Who never craved a lover's kiss, 
But trends this pilgrimage of strife 

^Yitllout the purest balm of life ? 
Where should he go ? I know not where— 

For earth unfit, unfit for air; 
God only kno\vs where he should dwell, 

And he won't si\y. Perhaps— Ah well. 

To CJiosen Friends Lodge, I. 0. O. F, 

Kind Brothei-s, in my humble way, 
I wish to tlumk you all. 
For this, another time your cars 
Were open to my call. 

I know that for my darksome lot, 
Your synipathy still blends. 
And I am glad my lot was cast 
With such as "Chosen Friends. '^ 

Though clouds of darkness overhang 
The path which I must tread, 
Yet I can feel the cheerful rays. 
That friends alone can shed. 
And though Aftiiction's load is hard. 
It partly makes amends. 



30 SELEt;T POEMS. 

For me to know my lot was eiist, 
With such as "Chosen Friends." 

And brethren, I sincerely feel, 

In this, my hour of need. 

That you have been in truth and love, 

A friend to me indeed. 

So x>lease accept the heartfeJt thanks, 
A grateful brother .sends, 
Who thanks liis OJod his lot was cast 
With such as "Chosen Friends." 



A Bliiul Man's Visit, 

I went to chat Mith the Foundry Boys, 

And as the day was fine, 
I spent it well amid the noise 

For the days of Auld Lang Syne. 

The pleasure that it gave to me, 

I cannot well define, 
Althougii the boys I could not see 

As in days of Auld I.ang Syne. 

Their hands I took and warndy shook, 

As warmly they did mine, 
And hearty were the laughs we took 

At the days of Auld Lang Syne. 

Wliile standing near theblacksmith fire 
That once was known as mine, 

There came to me a strong desire 
For the days of Auld Lang Syne. 

Though T should live for many years, 
E'en ninety years and nine, 

My eyes would fill with joyful tears 
For the davs of Auld Lang Syne. 



SELECT POEMS Bl 

A Type of Man. 

One morning in the summer time, 
When nature truly was sublime — 

Not e'en a cloud was Been— 
Up o'er the hills I bent my way 
To spend a quiet holiday 

Among the living green ; 
And while beside a mountain brook, 
Within a cool sequestered nook 
] sat and watched with ejiger look 

The water as it ran, 
I thought I saw in nature's book 

A perfect type of man. 

The stream ran downward in its course. 
And I arose to find its source — 

I might say place of birth ; 
And liear the summit of a hill 
I saw a little running rill 

Spring from the mother earth. 
It crept along a narrow bed — 
I followed on where'er it led, 
And saw it as it onward sped 

Grow stronger as it ran. 
How like (unto myself I said) 

The infancy of man. 

In innocence it went its way 
As doth a child in childish play, 

Nor bent on good nor ill ; 
It leaped and sprang, it seem'd to me 
Just like a child in childish ^ee 

When left to sport at will ; 



;« SELECT POEMS. 

And yet anon a shadow fell — 
An omen seeming to foretell 
That e'en a flower may cast a spell 

Of darkness o'er onr face. 
'Tis thus, thought I, fate doth dispel 

Some sunshine of our race. 
From either side .the brook was fed 
By streams fine as a silken thread, 

And pearly drops of dew ; 
While bending o'er in rural bliss. 
With benediction and a kiss. 

Were flowers of every hue. 
These lent'enchantment to the scene, 
And yet the brook with boyish mien 
Rushed v nward to a dark ravine. 

So (thought I) as it ran, 
On earth there never yet hath been 

A truer type of man. 
Now like a thoughtless aimless youth, 
With face alternate rough and smooth, 

It hurried cheerily, 
Unmindful of the hidden wnith 
That lay awaiting in its path. 

On to its destiny. 
The wayside fountains joined to swell 
Its volume as adown the dell 
O'er rock and preci}>ice it fell ; 

The spray seem VI like oTir tears 
When we are bidding a farewell 

To scenes of childhood years. 
But ere it reached the mountain base 
It moved with stately, manlike grace, 
As if 'twas tired of play, 



SELECT POEMS. ;« 

All 1 tliiit e:iiploymeiit it must find, 
A. lid be of use to all mankind 

Ere it should pass away. 
Its idlenevss was near an end, 
As to a lake it did descend, 
And there with other streams did blend 

In perfect harmony ; 
Then from the lake they slowly wend 

Tiieir way in company. 

I follow VI on around a hill, 
And soon I saw a pai>er mill 

Run by this swollen stream, 
>Vlience leaves for books of every kind 
That now expand the human mind. 

And wing- the poet's dream. 
A f!ax, then cotton mill appear'd, 
AVhieli enterprising man had rear'd, 
And so until the end was near'd 

Its labor was applied. 
The stream I silently revered 

With bared head by its side. 

Xow like a sage whose life was spent 
In usefulness, it seem'd content 

To calmly fall asleep. 
With strength subdued and furrow 'd face, 
It now had run its destined race, 

And mingled \\'ith the deep. 
'Tis thus, thought I, with all mankind ; 
From youth to age we are inclined 
To seek the path for us designed, 

And serve in some great plan : 
The brook is clearly in my mind, 

A perfect type of man. 



34 SELECT POEMS. 

To a Friend. 

Respected and much valued friend, 
To you these humble lines are pen'd ; 
An' whaur th' muse is gaun tae end 
I dinna ken ; but on this fae' ye may depend, 
I'll haud th' pen. 

It daes a Scotchman guid, ye ken, 

Tae meet anither noo an' then, 

An' crack o' Scotia's things an' men, 

When far awa 
Fra ilka Scottish hill and glen, 

An' birken sliaw. 

When Scot meets Scot they like tae speir 

Aboot auld haunts that still are dear ; 

An' braid Scotch tongues they like tae hear 

Whan o'er the sea ; 
For Scotland, Scotchman will revere 

Untae th' dee. 

There's something in a guid auld sang. 
Sung in the braidest Scottish twang. 
That gaurs Scotch bluid tae loup alang 

Wi' dooble speed ; 
An' tho' th' tune be richt or wrang, 

They dinna heed. 

Tho' Caledonians haud M'i' pride 
Columbia as their chosen bride. 
They ne'er forget th' auld fireside — 

Th' mither hame. 
An' if their love they sude divide, 

Wha wad them blame ? 



SELECT POEMS. 35 

Then chide us not, if we by spells 
Look back \vi' pride on Scotlancrs fells, 
Whaiir grew the bonny heather belhs 

Aniaist divine ; 
An' govvan'd braes an flow'ry dells 

O' auld lang syne. 



A Tear for Caledonia. 

Though far from Scotia's rugged hills, 

Her birken sliaws and dells. 
And though I never more may cull 

The bonnie heather bells, 
fStill I shall love her broomie knowes, 

Her fountains bright and clear, 
And for the days of *'Auld Lang Syne" 

I sometimes shed a tear. 

AVhile I admire Columbia's shore, 

The great land of tlie free. 
Whose broad majestic rivei*s roll 

In grandeur to the sea ; 
And though I've met with many friends 

Who now to me are dear, 
Yet for the land that gave me birth 

I sometimes shed a tear. 

I hear some praise the sunny south, 

Where sweet magnolias bloom, 
And where the orange blossom sheds 

Abroad its sweet perfume ; 
And where thefeather'd warblers' songs 

Enchant the list'ning ear ; 
Yet for the land of Robert Burns 

J sometimes shed a tear. 



SELECT POEMS. 

The minstrel may forego his harp, 

The bird may leave its nest, 
The mother may forsake the chiLl 

Slie's noLirish'd at her breast ; 
But Scotland 1 shall ne'er forget 

To honor and revere. 
And for the land I'll see no more 

I'll wipe away a tear. 



Who is it? 

Within Aurora there dees dwell 

A man whose surname I shall spell, 

A word shall Rive the proper sound 

To ev'ry letter therein found, 

And if these Unes you clonely scan 

You may at once discern my man ; 

1 .shall begin on number nine, 

Then oLe on each alternate line. 

It happened when I used to bk 

Within a land far o'er the sea 

Where there are flowers o'er hill and (!eU 

And ])ride of all the hejither bell, 

But Oh ! I saw a lovely flow'r 

Within a rural cottage bower, 

>'ear by the fiow'ry banks of Dkp:, 

She was the fairest flower to me 

And were I but a honey bek 

From her sweet lips I ne'er would flee. 

Her e'e was black as any sloe 

And haunts me now where'er I go ; 

A finer form you ne'er would see 

On any Scottish hill or lea, 



SELECT FOEMS. 

A bonny lass was Ellen K 
As all the lads were wont to say. 
80 now that 1 have spell'd his name 
It rests with you to tind the same. 



A Diamond. 

Oh ! 

1^ e V e r 

Dissever 

The holy ties 

Nor do thou despise 

The bonds that bind thy soul 

To heaven's eternal ^oal ; 

Where Christ our king- shall reign for aye ; 

Rather w i t h a contrite spirit pray 

For Him to take thy sins away. 

Thus the faith that binds thy soul 

To that eternal goal 

Will not be shaken, 

Nor forsaken, 

But nearer. 

Dearer 

Grow. 



'' WMgr 

The toUowing lines were written in answer to a Mend who 
desired to know liow and wliere the word 'Whig" originated. 
The first word in each verse make up the motto, "We Hope 
In Gcd" 

'We Hope in God,"" an ensign bore 
In Scotland years ago ; 
Supported by a Ijroad claymore, 
It fluttered to and fro; 



SELECT POEMS. 

And after a great 1 attle won 

The flag still floated free, 
But of the letters there were none. 

Save W— H— I— G. 

Hope ran tlirougli eaeli and every breast 

Like wild waves o'er a main ; 
Each felt that he luid done his best, 

And would do so again. 
And when they saw their flag bereft 

Of parts they loxtd to see, 
They thanked tlieir Cod that still were left 

The W— H— I— G. 

In God they placed implicit trust 

That all would yet le right ; 
Full well they knew their cause was just, 

Which gave their valor might. 
The flag by Scottish knights sustained, 

iS[ow waved o'er hill and lea, 
And all the motto it contained 

Was W— H-I— G. 

God sped the cause o'er hill and dale, 

To liut and lordly liall ; 
The lowly Scot and sturdy Gael 

No tyrant should enthrall. 
And so it sped across the seas, 

Where all men now are free, 
And flung its banner to the breeze 

With W^ -H -I— G, 



Tiibal Cain the Founder, 

I sing about a genius grand, 

Whose name and fame is sure to stand 



SELECT POEMS. i 

As good as any in the land, 
His name is Tubal Cain. 

'Twas he who first the iron found 
And brought it from the miry ground ; 
With echoes let the welkin sound 
In ])raise of Tubal Cain. 

The chisel in the mason's hand 
That hews the rocks for lighthouse grand 
To warn the sailors off the strand, 
Is due to Tubal Cain. 

The stuff" that makes the iron steed, 
That travels on with lightning speed, 
O'er mountain rough or level mead, 
Was found by Tubal Cain. 

The wires that gird around the earth 
To carry news of woe or mirth. 
Or tell of marriage, death or birth. 
We owe to Tubal Cain. 

The bell that hangs neath yonder spire 
And tolls for infant, youth and sire, 
Or clamors out with news of fire 
Is due to Tubal Cain. 

The cannon ball and monster gun 
That made proud Johnny Bull to run, 
The nicest job beneath the sun, 
W^eowe to Tubal Cain. 

Theu send your praises o'er the land 
In honor of this genius grand, 
And when you grasp a brother's hand, 
Just mention Tubal Cain. 



40 SELEC'T rOEMS. 

'To William Taylor Doiurey and 

Wife on the Dtkifli of their Son, 

Scott y. 

Within the eden of your hearts 

There came a Jf)vely vine, 
Whosie tender shoots with loving clasp 

Around your hearts did twine , 
And with a parent's fondest love 

Your tender cares were given 
To him whose happy face appeared 

A blessing sent from heaven. 

Beneatli the cutting wintry blast, 

That comes to one and all, 
The vine that i)romised splendid fruit, 

Too soon, alas, must fall. 
And from the dearest earthly ties 

Wee Scotty has been riven 
And wafted to the better land 

To bloom with Christ in Heaven. 

The great Creator's wondrous ways 

Are hard to understand— 
The upright and the trusting ones 

Oft feel the chastening hand. 
But let us hope that we shall find 

Our trials have been given 
To lead us from our earthly way 

And turn our thoughts to Heaven. 

., ♦♦♦ 

Charity. 

Chide not in haste the erring man, 
Before you censure, calmly halt 
And give yourself a thorough scan, 
And see if you have not one fault. 



SELECT POEMS 

Piuee Adam in the garden fell, 
To err has been our earthly doom ; 
And there is none that doeth well, 
The faultless live beyond the tomb. 

Extend your charity, O man, 
Unto the frail nusgiiided one ; 
The poor forlorn, with face so wan, 
May have a destined race to run. 
The great may not be always great, 
]S^)r may the wise be always wise; 
And why sliould we not deviate 
When angels fell from Paradise ? 

Do not contemn the feeble man, 
.Lo;)k not on snch with cruerscorn ; 
Perhaps he does the best he can, 
It may he weakness with him born. 
And though unequal in our eyes, 
He is no less a brother still ; 
Then oh ye great, ye good, ye wise, 
Be gentle to the indjecile. 



Civility. 

We mortals ne'er should disagree, 

For we are truly brothers ; 
The members of one famil^^, 

Though born of many mothers. 
To live in unity is best, 

Dissension doth bring evil ; 
And if on earth we would be blest, 

We must be justly civil. 

Let politicians all agree 

To quit their wrangling chorus ; 



SELECT POEMS. 

What signifies to you or ine 
What people did before us V 

And let the hiwyer cease to twist 
The law round like a swivel ; 

Let peace and harmony exist — 
Be civil, men, be civil. 

Let us remember Christ's command— 

'Tis "Love ye one another," 
And ever reach a helping hand 

To aid a fallen brother— 
For man's injustice unto man 

Sends thousands to the devil, 
When it is much a better plan 

To be both just and civil. 

And we should ever bear in mind. 

As down life's stream we're glidingj 
That it is better to be kind. 

Than be forever chiding. 
For though we live threescore and ten, 

We have no time to cavil ; 
Then let us try, as honest men. 

To be upright and civil. 



The Artisan. 

Be not by vanity mis-led 

To slight the artisan. 
For though he toils to earn his bread, 

He's nature's nobleman : 
Yea, quite as worthy as a king 
Is he who makes the anvil ring. 
And from whose brow flow streams of sweat, 
To pay the law of nature's debt. 



SELECT POEMS. 43 

The nioiuinients of Art go view, 

Ih- men of genius wrought, 
Nor grudge tlie w orkniaii honor due 

Thougli humhle be his lot. 
The prince may come in grand parade, 
But soon such pageant glories fade, 
While through all ages shall remain 
The name and fame of Tubal-C tin. 

The stately vessel reared by skill 

Ploughs through the deep blue main, 
The steam steed climbs the rugged hill 

And siieeds across the plain, 
E'en lightning comes as by command 
To carry news from land to land, 
And now the grand electric light 
Makes bright as day the darkest night. 

Among tlie nations of the earth 

The works of Art abound, 
Nor can we estimate their wortli 

Wherever they are found. 
Then look not on the genius born 
With cold contempt, or cruel scorn, 
Though poor, the honest artisan 
Has earned the title— Nobleman. 



The Poet. 

The poet's path is very hard, 
And countless ills his fate, 

Yet he who'd gain a bard's reward. 
Must never deviate ; 

And with a firm, determined stride 

]Move onward up the mountain side. 



SJLE'JT pos:.is. 

The Jiioiiiitaiii path that leads to ft.nie, 

Is ever steep and roui?h, 
And he who ( hnibs must not be lame, 

He'll find this soon enough ; 
For crities with keen weapons stand 
To hew him down ». n every hand. 

Amid the scorpion critic's jeers, 

He tirndy wends his way ; 
And when their seofls are turned to cheers, 

He has no time to stay ; 
The summit is his only aim 
Whereby to earn a poefs name. 

When heram'd by want of learning great, 

The bard ai)})ears forlorn, 
And now and tlieii, it seems that fate 

Would crush the poet born ; 
But with Pegasus at his call, 
He mounts his steed and needs not fall. 

O'er harriers of untold height, 

And ravines deep and wide, 
He fearless rides with true delight, 

To venture is his price; 
Nor thinks he once from whencj he came, 
His only aim, a poet's name. 



To IV h 07 11 It May Coihcei'ir. 

This poem was written upon receiving- an April Fool pack- 
a^re with thirty nine cents aiTears for postaffo. 

Oh I for Lord Byron's fiery tongue, 
And pen of Walter Scott 
To scourge the meanest rogue unhung'. 
Who thinks I know him not. 



SELECT POEMS. 45 

He thinks because he takes it cool 
And ignorant appears, 
That I don't know he sent that fool 
With'thirtj'-nine arrears. 

I Ivnow liim well, his writing's known, 
The low scLirrillons whelp I 
Nor do I think he was alone — 
Of course he had some help. 

Some mail official nmst have lent 
His service to the scamp ; 
The envelope was marked "missent," 
And had a bogus stamp. 

I wish that he had taken thought 
And sent his autograph, 
For 1 sincerely think it ought 
To head this ei)itai)h : 

''Here lies a caitifl'and foul reprobate 
AVliose tooth was venom and whose soul was hate 
Conniving wretch whose loathesome breath did 
He was a reptile of tlie haunts of hell ; [tell 

A dastard scoundrel of the deepest dye, 
Whose ignominious actions verify, 
For none but such would stoop so low to find 
A scheme to trap the unsuspecting blind." 

But if he deems this not enough, 
Then let him make it known. 
And with a budget of such stuff 
I'll cheerfully atone. 



The Sailor Boj/s Grave. 

The sun disappeared o'er a calm blue sea 
At the close of a summer day, 



46 SELECT POEMS. 

And the sea gulls were resting quietly, 

On the breast of a silent bay ; 
While a bark lay waiting a friendly breeze 

To waft it awiiy to its native seas. 

But midnight beheld a terrific storm — 
How the winds and the waves did roar ! 

And the lightning's flash showed the bark's 
frail form 
To watchmen patrohng the shore ; 

And they knew that no mortal hand could save 
That fated bark from a watery g ave. 

On the following morn at early dawn, 
When the hurricane's work was done, 

Came a drifting spar with a boy lash'd on, 
But his earthly career was run ; 

And the children wept for the boy in blue. 
Who was drown'd that night and whom no 
one knew. 

Tliey laid him to rest in the church yard green 
Near a spot where the woodbine grew. 

And they raised a slal) where it might be seen 
To remember the boy in blue. 

And the children go to the rippling wave 
To gather sea shells for the unknown's grave. 

At twilight I stood where the sea boy li^^-. 
And thought, if on some distant shore, 

A mother is w^atching with tearful eyes, 
For her boy who'll return no more, 

An angel might whisper, far o'er tlie wave 
Strange children with shells deck your dar- 
limr's errave. 



SELECT POEMS 47 

The Gowans and Blue Bells. 

There are flowers e'er the sea, 

Tliat will aye 1 e dear to nie, 

Though there may be floMers in other lands 

But the gowans and bhie bell.s [more rare ; 

On fair Scotland's hills and dells, 

Are the bonniest and the sweetest I declare. 

CHORUS. 

Oh the gowaii.s and the blue bells 

On fair Scotland's hills and dells, 

Are the sweetest flowers that ever decked a lea; 

But I'll see them nevermore, 

On fair Scotland s lovely shore, 

For I'm doomed to wander far across the sea. 

Let the jessamine so rare 

Be the Indian's boast and care. 

And let others i^raise the lily of the vale ; 

But my bosom proudly swells 

For the gowans and blue bells [dale. 

That are found on bonnie Scotland's hill and 

In my dreams I often roam 

To my happy childhood's home, 

Where thegowansshine like diamondson the lea; 

And my heart will yearn in vain 

For my native land again. 

When I wake to find I'm far across the sea. 

But as I must wander wide, 

Frae the bonnie river Clyde, 

Where I've sported in my youth along the 

I ani forced to say farewell [shore ; 

To the gowan and blue bell^ 

For I'll never, never «ee them any more. 



48 SELEL^T POEMS. 

Beason. 

If Voltaire, Spencer, Huxley, Darwin or Laplace 

Perchance had been the oltspring; of some Lea- 
then race, 

With naught but heathen influence, fehould we 
expect 

That either would have had such mighty intel- 
lect. 

But if it is in Christian lands alone we find 
One like Voltaire, with such superL, colossal 

mind, 
Then would it be unjust for us to boldly say 
His eminence is due to ('hristianity ? 

The atheistic evolutionist in pride 
Thus stultifies himself that God may be denied. 
A.nd vainly tries to teach his dogma to the world : 
That Christianity should from tl.e earth be 
hurrd. 

He who would sweep the Christian doctrine ofr* 
the earth 

Would banish that which gives immortal great- 
ness birth ; 

And he who should to such ignoble actions bend 

Unmanly turn.s in wrath against his greatest 
friend. 



Wayside Thoitghts. 

Fickle friends are like reflections, 
On life's sea when bright and still 
Then you'll find in all directions, 
They do follow at your will ; 



SELECT POEMS. 

But let darkness overtake you, 
And destructive billows roar, 
Then your fickle friends forsake you, 
Though life's bark be cast ashore. 

He who would to the summit rise 
Must not the shortest step despise; 
And if a step you cannot i^ain, 
Turn not from half one in disdain ; 
The road to fame is rough and steep, 
And he who climbs must often creep. 
The timber of the greatest worth. 
Is that which has the slowest growth ; 
A mush-room springs up in a night 
Another and 'tis out of sight. 



The more we see and understand, 
The works of the Creator's hand, 
The more we feel ourselves to be 
Dependent on His charity. 

There seems to be a sense innate, 
Whereby an intellectual mind 
May faithfully diiscriminate. 
With whom we should associate ; 
And thus it is we often find 
That instant love, or instant hate, 
Remains forever undefined. 



The Aurora Gondolier, 

Yes ! richer by far 

Than lute or guitar 

Or harp of a thousand strings, 



50 SELECT POEMS. 

Are the notes so clear, 

Of tlie gondolier, 

As he rows hi« boat and sings. 

"How I love to row 

On the Ohio— 

When she that I love is near, 

On a summer night 

When the star.s are bright. 

And the moon is shining clear.'* 

With heart all aglow, 

To Split Rock he'll row, 

To join a ])icnic on shore, 

And his joyous :-ong, 

As he rows along', 

Keeps time with the dipping oar. 



The echoes rehoiind 
From the hills nvonnrT^ 
Enchanting the Tsfningear, 
While proud as a king. 
He'll merrily sing 
The song of the gondolier. 

••'How I love fo n»w 

On the Ohio— 

AVhen she that T love is near, 

On a summer niglit 

When the stars are bright, 

And the moon is shining clear." 



si;lect poems. 51 

To the Memory of the Poet, 
H. W, Longfellow. 



In mountain homes and city hails, 

Longfellow's songs are sung ; 

They've found the wa^^ to foreign lands, 

And to the foreign tongue. 

Tliey give Columbia's bard a name. 

Throughout his native land; 

And fame that will not fade away, 

Like foot-i)rints on the sand. 

There may be bards in other lands. 

With more romantic style ; 

But none whose themes are more sincere 

Nor thoughts more free from guile. 

For more than threescore years and ten, 

All upriirht life he led ; 

But he who wrote Evangeline, 

Now slumbers with tlie c'ead. 

How beautiful the Psalm of Life 

Portrays his noble mind ; 

The Village Smith and Haunted Slave 

Endears him to mankind. 

Excelsior, the Clock, and Bridge 

vShall stand forever more, 

To l)less the poet, born to fame. 

On fair Columbia's shore. 



.)2 SELECT POEMS. 

And now the Angel of the Lord, 
Whose voice all must obey, 
Has come, hi.s mission to fulfill. 
Our bard to take away. 
Away from all those worldly cares, 
That oft did fill l\is breast ; 
Our loss is his eternal gain-; 
Longfellow is at rest. 



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